After leaving the merchant guild, Lanche wandered on and arrived at the tavern run by the beautiful owner, Daisy.
"Hey, Lanche! Perfect timing! Bring us a few barrels of your family's wine!" an old mercenary shouted.
Lanche smiled and said to Daisy, "Sister Daisy, I'll treat everyone here."
"Oh—! All drinks are on Young Master Lanche! Drink up!" the old mercenary raised his glass and yelled.
"Lanche! Lanche! Lanche!" the crowd cheered excitedly.
"A toast to generous Lanche!"
The atmosphere instantly turned lively.
Lanche didn't mind; he was rich now, with Kestia giving him a hefty allowance.
He walked to the bar, sat down, and ordered a glass to taste.
"These old drunks won't drink anything unless it's blended with your new malt wine," Daisy said.
"Hah! Since trying that new malt wine, other drinks taste like horse piss," the old mercenary grumbled.
"The boss must be mixing in regular malt wine too," a patron muttered.
Daisy placed her hands on her hips. "What? Not happy? Using only that wine couldn't withstand your drinking!"
The crowd laughed heartily—no anger, since prices hadn't risen.
Lanche took a sip.
She probably added a bit of distilled malt wine to regular batches, boosting purity and flavor.
"Lanche, any discount for me?" Daisy grinned at him.
"No problem, it's nothing!" Lanche waved casually.
"Generous!" Daisy gave a thumbs-up.
"Lanche! Lanche! Lanche!" everyone roared again, feeding his vanity.
Just then, a figure in a green cloak entered, puzzled by the noise but finding an empty table.
She lifted her hood, revealing a pretty face and pointed ears.
A nearby mercenary noticed and gasped.
"Is that... an elf?" someone whispered.
"Impossible? Legends say Elvenfolk aren't on this continent."
"Just ears that are long and pointy."
After murmuring, they still doubted it; elves were mythical to them.
Yet this girl matched Elvenfolk legends perfectly: waist-length hair braided like golden wheat stalks.
Her emerald eyes gleamed like forest gems, features exquisitely perfect—almost inhuman.
"Excuse me... what would you like?" Tahina approached to serve.
"Your best wine now, and tastiest appetizers," the elf girl smiled, her voice bright as a forest oriole's.
"Okay," Tahina nodded, eyes drifting to the pointed ears.
"No need to doubt—I am Elvenfolk," Wenbess declared openly, touching her springy ears.
"Are you... Sister Wenbess?" Daisy's eyes widened.
"Huh? Someone recognizes me?" Wenbess looked but saw strangers.
"It's me! I'm Daisy!" Daisy exclaimed.
"Daisy?" Wenbess paused, then walked to the bar, studying her closely.
"Oh—! Little Daisy! Fifty years since we last met—you've grown so much!" She fondly stroked Daisy's face.
The humans fell silent. Of course she'd grown—surviving fifty years was a miracle.
"Fifty years, boss you—" the old mercenary started.
Daisy punched his head. "Don't ask a woman's age!"
He took the hit but stared, unbelieving.
Everyone, including Lanche, looked ghost-struck. This young, beautiful owner was over fifty? Nearly sixty?
Many felt dazed, their nightly fantasies crumbling into wrinkles.
Lanche silently thanked his luck—he'd only admired Daisy's beauty and spirit, no wild dreams.
"Daisy's still so lively," Wenbess smiled.
She looked like a girl in her prime, yet her age... who knew how many centuries?
Daisy forgot her exposed age, overjoyed. "I thought I'd never see you again, Sister Wenbess."
"I too feared no old friends remained. Human lives are short, places change fast—every return feels new," Wenbess sighed, melancholy.
"Still traveling?" Daisy asked.
"Yes, wandering aimlessly. I plan to return soon," Wenbess smiled slightly.
"Return? Not traveling anymore?" Daisy blinked.
"Mm, rest first. Maybe I'll revisit in fifty years," Wenbess said.
All were awed; time was just a number to her.
Even ageless Daisy gave a bitter smile.
"Amazing you kept this tavern. I thought it'd be gone," Wenbess said.
Daisy smiled back. "I hoped you'd find us when you returned."
"But my father has passed."
"Pity. I've forgotten his name," Wenbess sighed softly, unmoved—too many farewells on her travels.
"Can't be helped—we're human. I'm glad you remember me," Daisy smiled.
Wenbess nodded, mood dipping.
Tahina brought the wine.
"Thanks. Your daughter?" Wenbess asked.
"My granddaughter," Daisy said. Mercenaries in the tavern nearly lost their minds.
Lanche and others clutched their heads, trying to erase the memory to save Daisy's image.
"Hello! Wenbess... Sister?" Tahina hesitated.
"Haha, just call me sister—I'll remember you," Wenbess patted her head. Though both seemed young, Wenbess felt like an elder.
Daisy carefully introduced Tahina, truly hoping she'd be remembered.
Wenbess listened, smiling, and sipped her wine.
"Huh? This wine..." She stared at the pale liquid, surprised.
"This is the new malt wine—invented by him," Daisy pointed to Lanche, exaggerating to connect them.
Meeting a long-lived elf was rare; she counted it as a favor for the discount.
Wenbess glanced at Lanche, sizing him up as an ordinary human.
"Hello, I'm Lancer Clayn," Lanche greeted with a smile.
"Mm, hello!" Wenbess smiled; her mannerisms hid her centuries.
"Can I buy wine from you? Daisy doesn't mind, right?" she chuckled.
"No issue—I buy from him too," Daisy nodded.
"No problem here either," Lanche said.
"But may I ask a few questions? You've traveled the world and lived so long," he looked at Wenbess.
"Sure," Wenbess nodded, unfazed.
Many treated her like a walking encyclopedia, history book, or philosophy tome.
